First Impressions
by karinarios
Summary: Suou Tamaki is rich, handsome and brilliant, but he has the misfortune of always dating women he can't handle. When his resolves to set his standards lower, he aims his target on a seemingly simple-minded waitress at Ouran Corner.
1. Prologue: Kyouya Knows Best

**First Impressions**

by karinarios

**Prologue: Kyouya Knows Best**

_[31 March 2011] _I wanted to do something light, just to balance my crazy RL. And since I think we'll all agree _Ouran _is _the_ anime to write something fun for… Haven't seen it in a while though, so this might be a bit off. Still, hope you like it. [Please read in ½.]

Just a warning though. I'm trying to experiment with the POV. Meshing that with my naturally warped writing style might be a bit difficult to swallow for readers who read only good writing. AND! I'm sort of writing this as I go. Ha. ::P

**Disclaimer: **

I do not own _Ouran High School Host Club_; the whole concept belongs to Hatori Bisuko-sensei.

This fanfic is based on the anime_. _

**Summary: **

Suou Tamaki is rich, handsome and brilliant, but he has the misfortune of always dating women he can't handle. When his resolves to set his standards lower, he aims his target on a seemingly simple-minded waitress at Ouran Corner. But Fujioka Haruhi is not who he thinks she is.

**Prologue: Kyouya Knows Best**

_16 July_

_Saturday_

The Ouran Tea and Coffee Corner had debuted to rave reviews the previous week, causing the deluge of customers that was now mildly chattering in 300 sq meters worth of prime commercial space, meticulously sampling the cappuccino that was rumored to be the best in all of Shibuya. Couples in varying degrees of compatibility were strategically scattered across the establishment – the braver ones joining hands over tables by the door, the pairs preferring privacy whispering sweet nothings in secluded booths near the back of the shop. Even Tokyo celebrities had come to confirm the validity of the delicious rumors brewing around the Ouran name. It could be sworn the man with the austere all-black outfit, seated on a corner table and hiding behind the latest issue of Newsweek, was the infamous psychic researcher, Oliver Davis. And the famous leading lady Mogami Kyouko was paparazzi-shot squealing over a slice of tiramisu, betraying her enforced rabbit food diet of five years, as her on- and off-screen partner Tsuruga Ren smiled at her antics most contentedly.

It could be argued, however, that the most conspicuous customers of the shop at the moment were two dashing young men seated by the bay window on the far left corner of the room. Clothed in elegant silk dress shirts, their dark trousers spotless, leather shoes reflective, they magnetized the stares of the female customers and even some of the staff, much to the irritation of some competitive males in the immediate vicinity. Though both seemed aware of the appreciation they were being paid, however, they merely went on with their conversation as though only the two of them existed. This did not, in any way, lessen the volume of the attention they were receiving – quite the contrary.

The blond seemed the more congenial of the two, as proven by his twinkling cornflower blue eyes, which adequately completed the rather comical figures he drew in the air while speaking. His bespectacled, dark-haired companion, the image of a typical Japanese gentleman with the freebie of the enigmatic aura of danger he emanated, was merely sipping his chrysanthemum tea in silence, a perpetual faint smile plastered on his smooth, even features. Putting his teacup down, the pale china clinking pleasantly, Ootori Kyouya sighed imperceptibly and sneaked a glance at the downtown intersection beyond the window. He had a hunch he knew exactly why Suou Tamaki had brought him here, of all places… and the prospect did not please him.

"You're not even listening to me."

Kyouya blinked, shoulders tensing, as he smoothly turned to meet his companion's gaze. Tamaki was looking at him with his version of a glare, pouting almost childishly, his eyelids drooping in an angle calculated to induce pity. "And I was just getting to the good part…"

Eyebrows twitching, Kyouya evenly replied, "Tamaki. Do you seriously expect me to believe you're interested in sky diving? Because in case you've forgotten, you once refused to get on that roller coaster in Hong Kong-"

"It was on the edge of a mountain, Kyouya!" Tamaki rebutted passionately, leaning forward in his haste. "And besides, I'm not joking about this. I'm even planning to have the plane out next weekend so I can test dive-"

"What I mean to say is," Kyouya interrupted calmly, "do you really expect me to believe you called me all the way here just to talk to me about sky diving?" He cocked his head. "Sky diving. Seriously?"

Tamaki's nostrils flared. Muttering unintelligibly under his breath, he appeared to be mouthing a sentence with the words 'smart' and 'good'. Watching his friend struggle, Kyouya smiled blandly.

"Just talk, Tamaki." The smile widened, not brightening. "Why are you wasting my time?"

Holding his breath for a second, Tamaki shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Making a show of clearing his throat, he casually stated, "So I broke up with Sonoko last night." A brief flick of his eyes confirmed Kyouya's expectedly controlled reaction. "I ended things over dinner." A pause. "She tried to cook shrimps."

Reaching over for his tea, Kyouya almost vacantly asked his friend, "Why? She was… enthusiastic."

Raising a skeptical eyebrow, Tamaki turned to his side and flung an arm over his seat. "She just went on and on about product branding. Wouldn't quit talking about snakes and ladders-"

"Snakes and ladders?"

"She's trying to improve it," Tamaki sighed. "Their zaibatsu's collaborating with Phantomhive Games – it's her latest item-"

"Must be hard."

"It was. She's a crocodile."

Kyouya didn't know what to say that, so for a moment of surprised silence, he took a sip of his tea. Drinking calmly, observing the frowning Tamaki over the rim of his cup, Kyouya allowed himself the smallest twinge of worry. Suzuki Sonoko had been the latest of five casualties in an alarmingly short span of three and a half months. Even for Tamaki's fickle fancies, things weren't looking good.

"Still, she was more tolerable than your last girlfriend," Kyouya ventured, setting his cup down. "What's-her-name? Hanakomachi-san?"

"Chris," Tamaki supplied dully. "And no, Chris was the one who did woodwork landscaping. You're talking about Ume-chan-"

"This is Kurumizawa-san, right? The _Lancome _model_?" _

"Yep. That's the one."

Kyouya repressed the urge sigh, merely settling for pushing his glasses higher. A dull ache was beginning to throb at the base of his skull, and he was sorely tempted to bury his face in his palms and auto-massage his temples. "Tamaki-"

"The truth is, I actually know what my problem is."

Kyouya froze, expression an automatic blank effortlessly summoned through years of unrelenting practice. "You do?"

Tamaki had assumed a grave air, shoulders straight, eyebrows furrowed in rapt attention. Leaning forward ever so slightly, as though he planned to let slip one of the Diet's state secrets, he admitted in a whisper, "I do."

Turning to stare through the window for effect, knowing full well Kyouya was watching, waiting for him to talk – together with a healthy 40% of the people in the café – he continued, "I keep getting bored with the women I date because I always date the same types."

Kyouya frowned overtly. "No, you don't. There was Busujima-san, that swordswoman-"

"I keep dating women with high standards." Tamaki went on as though he had not heard the interruption. "Dragon ladies." He met Kyouya's skeptical gaze head-on, passionately insisting, "Kyouya, I keep dating dragon ladies. I'm breaking the cardinal rule of dating-"

"Which is-?"

"If you want to have a girlfriend who'll look up to you, date someone beneath you."

There was a moment of suspended silence. "Of course," Kyouya acknowledged after a full six seconds. "And what fresh addiction, pray tell, influenced you to come up with that stupendously warped conclusion-?"

"If I can find a normal person to be with," Tamaki plowed on relentlessly, raising his hands to his face in enlightened agitation, "just someone to have a fling with, maybe things won't be so difficult for both of us-"

Groaning, Kyouya surrendered to his primal instincts and gracelessly plonked onto the smooth wood of the table. "I _cannot _believe I am currently having this conversation." Suddenly, he raised his head, his glasses glinting pensively in the late afternoon sunlight. "Though considering I _am _talking to you-"

"What about her?" Tamaki suggested suddenly, all perky, eyes targeted at one of the few females within a 50 m radius who hadn't bothered giving him a once-over. "She looks ordinary enough – commoner clothes, rather ill-chosen bag and too-tiny shoes… pharmacy-dyed hair-"

"_Will you keep your voice down!" _Kyouya hissed, manually swatting Tamaki's enthusiasm back to the table, as the woman in question turned a beady eye at the pair of them. "Can't you see the ring on her finger? For Chrissake, have you started developing partiality for married women-?"

"Oh, right." Bouncing back disturbingly quickly, Tamaki scanned the room one more time. "How about her? The woman with the large hat. Wait. That's Mogami Kyouko, right?"

Blanching despite himself, Kyouya clenched his fists. "Tamaki. Don't tell me you haven't heard about her relationship with Tsuruga Ren-?"

"Of course, I have," Tamaki pouted, taking offense. "I get around, too, you know. I just think it might be a fun challenge, dating a superstar."

Praying for divine intervention, Kyouya slowly closed his eyes and counted to five. "Weren't you just saying that you needed to date someone normal_?_" he verbally recalled as evenly as he could.

Starting, Tamaki blinked several times in succession, eyebrows furrowing deeper and deeper. "I'd forgotten about that."

It was Kyouya's turn to pinch the bridge of his nose. Grimacing at the full-fledged pulsation of his head, he blinked to clear his muddled, murky thoughts, exhaling slowly as his psychiatrist had instructed him to. Looking away from the idiot who often possessed his best friend, his wandering gaze eventually fell on a petite, brown-haired waitress serving cake from a silver tray two tables down. She was smiling gently at her customers – a quintet of dignified elderly ladies wearing traditional Japanese attire – and offering a small joke that made the guests chuckle pleasantly. Kyouya watched the dark strands falling softly over her pale forehead, the orbs of light dancing in her warm brown eyes-

"She's pretty."

Kyouya snapped back to Tamaki, amazed to see the latter observing the same waitress most intently. His lips were parted slightly in curiosity, a faint wrinkle washing over his forehead. Kyouya had seen that expression several times before – and it never boded well. "And she works here…"

It was not a question.

"I would assume so," Kyouya answered lightly, gaze skittering back to the tabletop. His teacup had finally ceased emitting steam, half-empty with a thin, pale liquid. Glaring at it, Kyouya began, "Tamaki. I know I normally give way to your mad ideas, no matter the costs and consequences, but this latest scheme is different. I'm of half a mind to set you up on an omiai, right now-"

He paused, blinking. "Tamaki?"

The seat before him was empty. Frowning with his trademark lord-of-the-manor displeasure, Kyouya showered shuriken glares in the direction where he estimated Tamaki would be. True enough, the capricious blond was leaning over the café's marble counter, attempting to strike a thriving conversation with the highly bemused waitress. Taking note of the hand gestures he knew so well – the index finger beneath the chin, the palm extending slightly forward with fingers flat – Kyouya's displeasure rose to a higher degree. Grabbing a handful of his normally un-mussed dark hair, he cursed inwardly.

_On his own head be it. _

**A/N: **

_[31 March 2011] _I had too much fun with the references here – sorry!

Oliver Davis is from _Ghost Hunt_; Mogami Kyouko and Tsuruga Ren are from _Skip Beat; _Suzuki Sonoko is from _Meitantei Conan_; Hanakomachi Christine is from _UFO Baby_; Kurumizawa Ume is from _Kimi ni Todoke_; Busujima Saeko is from _High School of the Dead_. Phantomhive Games is from _Kuroshitsuji_.

A zaibatsu is a Japanese conglomerate controlled by an influential family. An omiai is sort of a blind date between a man and a woman who have a potential compatibility for marriage.

Thanks for reading! ::D It's only going to get crazier from here on out.

Edited: _[4 April 2011]_


	2. Chapter One: Renge Deals Hard

**First Impressions**

by karinarios

**Chapter One: Renge Deals Hard**

_[4 April 2011] _Hallo! A warning, because this used to come up in reviews for my other chaptered stories: I like to treat each chapter as a one-shot. So rarely is there actual continuity between chapters – they're all meant to be stand-alones. Transition always has been, and probably always will be, one of my weak points. Along with, of course, mad writing. ::P

**Disclaimer: **

I do not own _Ouran High School Host Club_; the whole concept belongs to Hatori Bisuko-sensei.

This fanfic is based on the anime_. _

**Summary: **

Suou Tamaki is rich, handsome and brilliant, but he has the misfortune of always dating women he can't handle. When his resolves to set his standards lower, he aims his target on a seemingly simple-minded waitress at Ouran Corner. But Fujioka Haruhi is not who he thinks she is.

**Chapter One: Renge Deals Hard**

_17 July _

_Sunday_

Fujioka Haruhi chuckled tentatively as Houshakuji Renge handed over yet another glossy magazine for her to check. On top of the ornate mahogany table between them, amidst dolls and trinkets that Renge apparently enjoyed collecting, tottered a considerable pile of _Tokyo Tatler _back issues, all of which featured a certain group of gentlemen which – it was becoming more apparent with each magazine unearthed from within the desk – the Ouran Corner manager and proprietor was partial to. Resisting the insane urge to grimace at the bent figure muttering random nonsense to the sound of moving drawers, Haruhi looked down at the glossy she was holding in her raised hands…

Las October's cover page featured six handsome young men in tuxedos of varying shades standing in the middle of what appeared to be an abandoned parking lot. Squinting at the two in the foreground of the picture, she recognized the problematic guests from the previous afternoon.

Haruhi frowned. The dark haired one with glasses had seemed civil enough, calmly dragging his companion away when she had courteously requested him to, but the blond was out of this world. He had pestered her to no end, lounging – _perching_ on the edge of the counter just as Haruhi was making progress on the balance sheets. And even after she had politely declined his ill-concealed advances – not that she believed he was making any effort to _pretend _at all – he still stayed! Playing with the tissue box and chatting her up as though she were an airhead with a propensity to fall for men with good looks!

_Utter subjugation_, Haruhi's frown deepened as she glanced up from the magazine, eyes following the madwoman who was now sifting through the mess that was her table. _That's why I didn't want this job in the first place-_

"Here's the commentary they did on the Australian Open," Renge abruptly announced, distracted, stuffing another magazine into Haruhi's unwilling hands. "It's a bit dated, but I _love_ how it centers on Kyouya-sama! I mean, I've always believed Mori-san was the closest in the sports department, but since he _never _talks – _shame_ – Kyouya-sama just had to step in and save him the trouble of having to comment!"

Without warning, she buried her face in the pile of glossy magazines, clutching the edges of her desk, and muttering, "Kyouya-sama… _Ootori Kyouya-sama!_"

Ignoring the woman semi-prostrated before her, Haruhi flipped the issue open. There were indeed pictures of tennis matches, of Venus and Serena and good old Rafael, but there appeared to be more pictures of the same group of guys, lounging around in various versions of tennis whites, sipping on what looked like wine. _Good God. _

"Um. Renge-san." The Manager lazily raised her head. "Exactly why are you showing me all these?"

Renge frowned thoughtfully. Inching forward in her awkwardly bent position, dragging her swiveling seat as she moved, she finally settled with propping her chin on a nearby music box. Raising a perfectly chiseled eyebrow at Haruhi, Renge accused, "You said you didn't know of Suou Tamaki."

"I didn't know I was supposed to-"

Renge did not seem pleased. "Exactly what did Tamaki-san talk to you about yesterday?"

Haruhi raised her arms in frustration. "I don't… _know _– I wasn't paying attention." She scratched her head, staring at the table before her as she tried to recall a memory she would rather bury in the forbidden archives of her brain. "He invited me to have coffee with him, and I said I found the offer ironic, given we were in a coffee shop." She sighed. "Then I think he… laughed and said he'd take me to dinner instead, but I refused-"

"Did you tell him where you study?"

A pair of eyebrows twitched. "No… Why would I do that?"

"And you didn't tell him what you do?" Renge pressed. "No personal details whatsoever?"

Haruhi shook her head, looking bemused. "Nothing except my first name."

"Nothing except your first name," The Manager repeated, straightening up. "That's good. I don't think Tamaki-san is the type who does a background check on the women he dates anyway-"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Haruhi." There was something familiar flickering in The Manager's eyes – the same passion that invaded her normally tolerant features whenever she demanded to have the blackberry pudding served with mango slices. "I have a proposition."

Resting her face over her fragile, joined hands, she began, "The truth is, Tamaki-san believes he's offended you-"

Haruhi cleared her throat. "That would be the logical conclusion, considering I _did _request him to leave-"

"He's very _interested_ in you-"

"He _did_ seem quite interested in toying with me-"

"Not quite." Renge bit her lip, shifting her pose and falling unceremoniously on the cushions behind her. "Tamaki-san… actually seems quite serious about pursuing you."

A blink, followed by a furrowing of eyebrows. _"We've never even met before."_

"He…" Renge tapped her cheek, glancing worriedly away as she wondered how best to phrase exactly what Suou Tamaki was. "Tamaki-san has a problem. He always ends up dating dragon ladies…"

She looked up to check Haruhi's reaction. Expectedly, it was nonexistent.

"He always finds out too late that his girlfriends are control freaks."

Again, a statement met with disinterested silence.

"Not to mention, overachieving perfectionists."

Haruhi actually reached up to scratch her arm.

Renge, frustrated, laid both her hands palms-up on the table. "Right now, he just wants to date someone normal-"

"I'm sorry, Renge-san, but did he actually tell you all this?"

"He told me earlier today," Renge answered suspiciously, stacking her magazines for the sake of having something to channel her anxiety to. "You were still in the office. And I have to remind you I'll have to dock part of your pay for that-"

Haruhi was not listening.

"Hmmm." She stood with arms akimbo, hands still clutching the magazines, bright gaze distant. "_Subjugation, huh?_" Suddenly, a smile. "I'm not sure I completely sympathize with him though-"

"The truth is-" Renge's hands moved slower as she placed the last issue on top of the stack, "he thinks you're a bit slow."

A pause. Then Haruhi blinked, hands falling to her sides in surprise. "He thinks I'm dumb?"

"_Yes_, well…" Renge nervously faked a cough. "That's what he thinks."

Haruhi frowned thoughtfully. "The more I fail to see the reason you're so enamored with him and his friends-"

"He's _really _keen on pursuing you," Renge emphasized one more time, squinting in vain at the girl before her and half-hoping she would change her passive reaction somehow. "And what a Suou wants, a Suou always gets. _Immediately_-"

"I'm sorry, Renge-san, but are you telling me this to warn me?" Haruhi turned blank eyes on her boss, ignoring Renge's building frustration. "Because earlier I had the feeling you were trying to get me to appreciate his _good side_, as I'm sure even a man like him possesses that proverbial aspect-"

"I'm trying to prepare you for his future advances," Renge muttered dully, not willing to admit she had lost track of Haruhi's pseudo-monologue. "Because I assure you there will be more-"

"I'm sorry, but just to clarify – did you say he wants to _date _me because he thinks I'm not the sharpest pin in the sewing kit?"

"He wants to know more about you," Renge reached over and pulled her magazines from Haruhi's grasp, "because he thinks you'll be able to provide him with what he's never had."

"I doubt there's _anything_ he's neverhad-"

"Attention. Care. Respect." Haruhi had never seen The Manager look so angry before, not even when she openly insulted Renge's recipe for strawberry shortcake. "I may not share your educational background, but I'm sure it would be to your advantage to give the man the benefit of the doubt." Her frown deepened as Haruhi looked slightly chagrined. "I may not know him personally, but I know enough to be sure he's a decent person." She scoffed and closed her eyes, flustering. "After all, he _is _Kyouya-sama's best friend-"

"I apologize Renge-san, but if sparing him some compassion entails having to mollycoddle his bruised ego, I'm not sure I'm up to the task of '_dating_' him-"

"I know." Renge admitted in a long-suffering voice, pulling a tissue from a crystal-lined box. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

As she silently watched Renge blow her nose on a purple tissue, Haruhi felt an ominous twinge she couldn't quite place. It was a cross between how she felt on the morning of an important examination, and how she felt when she saw people jump off cliffs on TV. "I'm afraid I don't understand your meaning fully, Renge-san-"

"I want you to flatter his ego," Renge said from behind another piece of tissue, her voice odd and muffled, like a little girl about to cry. "I want you to lavish care upon him. Treat him well."

"And _why _would I want to do that?"

Waving the question aside as she scratched her nose distractedly, Renge mumbled, "You don't need to know." Sighing, she bent to reach for her waste bin and explained, "Let's put it this way. If you treat him nicely for two weeks, I'll call off your debt. I won't charge you for the rest of the vase-" she added, seeing Haruhi opening her mouth to protest, "and we'll pretend you never broke it."

Haruhi did not appear convinced. "But why two weeks-?"

"You won't even have to work here anymore," Renge suggested, thinking desperately of privileges that would lure Haruhi in. "You'll be free."

Even as Renge watched, Haruhi's expression did not change, not even gradually. She simply stood in front of the table, blinking at Renge mechanically, the gray matter hamsters running silently in her surprisingly tiny skull. The Manager bit her lip. She was of half a mind to call off the deal now, as she wasn't particularly keen on using underhanded methods for befriending people. Before she could change her decision properly, however, Haruhi exhaled and by force of habit, tugged at her fringe childishly.

"All right, fine," she agreed begrudgingly. "I'll entertain him. But not so I can be free of the debt – I mean, not _only _so I can be free of the debt…" Meeting Renge's gaze head on, Haruhi clarified one last time, "You did say he thought I was an airhead, right?"

Almost afraid to move, Renge nodded.

"Well then," Haruhi started, blinking serenely. "I suppose it's part of my duty to make sure he becomes enlightened regarding the faux promises of first impressions."

She smiled reassuringly, causing The Manager's blood to chill even deeper. "Don't worry, Renge-san. I'll only be experimenting…"

**A/N: **

_[4 April 2011] _I'm honestly having trouble writing Haruhi, given I hardly recall anything about her personality in the show. Same goes for the other characters. ::P I just checked the Wikipedia descriptions for each of them, and I've realized I've envisioned them slightly off-canon. Still, since I've already drafted a plot structure with _these _versions of them in mind, can we pretend they've just changed? ::X Please?

**Next:**

**Chapter Two: Honey Feigns Innocence**

A determined Suou Tamaki mercilessly drags his unwitting senpai into the battleground that is his love life. He is caught off-guard, however, by the enemy's strategy: Haruhi has suddenly warmed up to him, though he is not too sure he appreciates this abrupt development. An afternoon of pudding, pretension, and lies awaits.


End file.
